


Mad Devils

by carolinecrane



Series: Aftermath [15]
Category: The Brotherhood 2: Young Warlocks (2001)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-05-05
Updated: 2011-05-05
Packaged: 2017-10-19 01:00:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,446
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/195148
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/carolinecrane/pseuds/carolinecrane
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jealousy is no more than feeling alone against smiling enemies.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Mad Devils

"Do you ever miss them?"

He's got one hand on the edge of the pool, warm water up to his chest and he's been watching Harlan float on his back for what feels like forever. And it's January, so it's not that warm outside, but it's humid in the pool house and if he closes his eyes he can almost believe they're in some tropical paradise instead of hanging out in Harlan's house.

"Who?" Harlan asks without looking up, eyes closed and neck elongated and if it wasn't for the fact that his mother's lurking somewhere in the house, Marcus might even find the courage to glide through the water and lick that spot just below Harlan's ear.

"Randall and Alex."

Harlan shrugs and straightens up, legs disappearing under the water and eyes opening to squint at Marcus. "What does it matter?"

"Come on," Marcus says, smile a little nervous because he's not even sure why he's asking. He doesn't want to talk about this, doesn't want to know if Harlan thinks about them. "They were your friends, right? Just because Jon left doesn't mean I don't miss hanging out with him."

"Jesus, this is about Van Owen?" Harlan rolls his eyes, treading water a little closer now and Marcus isn't sure when that happened, but there's a part of him that wants to move away. "Don't tell me you're still mooning over that loser, Marcus."

"I never mooned over Jon," he says, but he knows Harlan doesn't believe him. And he's almost glad, because Harlan's jealous. Jealous over _him_ , and he never thought that would happen. "Besides, it's not the same. I mean it's not like Jon's…"

The last word gets stuck in his throat, and just for a second he feels sticky warmth on his fingers and tastes the coppery tang of blood on his tongue. And even now a little thrill surges through him at the thought, straight to his groin and he hates himself for remembering every detail. For _wanting_ to remember, letting it play over in his head sometimes when he's not really paying attention.

"Like he's what?" Harlan asks, and Marcus tells himself he's imagining the suspicion in Harlan's voice. If he thought Marcus was involved – if he really believed that – Marcus wouldn't be here right now. Harlan wouldn't have fucked him in his own bed less than two hours ago, and they wouldn't have made out in the shower until the water turned cold.

"Nothing. It's just…you and Randall."

"What, you're jealous?" Harlan says, laughter clear in his voice and Marcus knows what he's thinking before he says it. "That's really stupid, Marcus."

"You should talk." It's exactly the wrong thing to say and he knows it, but he says it anyway, voice low and just a little dangerous and when Harlan laughs again his hands clench into fists.

"Why the fuck would I be jealous? Because of Slayton? Give me a break, Marcus. He won't even talk to you."

"Fuck you, Harlan," Marcus says, pushing off the wall and toward the stairs that lead out of the pool. He hears Harlan moving through the water after him, knows he's a strong swimmer but he doesn't turn around even when a hand closes around his wrist.

"Where do you think you're going?"

The words are whispered low, right next to his ear and for a second Marcus flashes back to the locker room on the day all this started. The day Randall drowned, and Marcus has tried not to think of himself as a replacement for what Harlan lost that day.

"I'm going out for a smoke."

"I thought you were quitting," Harlan says, and now Marcus is sure he's imagining the hint of uncertainty in Harlan's voice. Because Harlan doesn't do uncertain; as long as Marcus has known him he's been the most confident guy in school, and that's not going to change just because Marcus wants it to.

"You said I _should_ quit. I never said I was going to."

He pulls out of Harlan's grip, climbing out of the pool and grabbing a towel on his way toward the door that leads to the back yard. He doesn't know where he's going, all he knows is that it's away – away from Harlan, away from his family and his huge, expensive house and all the stuff that Marcus shouldn't have. Most of it he doesn't even want, but the one thing he does want is the thing he should be staying farthest away from. Because Harlan's friends are dead – murdered – and there's no way Marcus can keep that secret forever.

Maybe if he was the only one who knew. If it was just him he wouldn't have to worry – he might even forget someday, chalk it all up to a bad dream and get on with his life. But Matt knows; worse than that, Jon knows, and even though he fucked off to God knows where Marcus doesn't trust him to keep his mouth shut.

He stops when he rounds the corner of the house, huddling close to the brick to try and block the wind. It's even colder outside when he's wet, and he wishes he did have a cigarette. But they're still in his bag up in Harlan's room, and there's no way he's going in there to get them. He's not sure what he's going to do, if he's going to walk back to school or just stand out here until he freezes to death. It doesn't matter, really, because he's pretty sure he just ruined everything.

And he knew this was coming, knew eventually Harlan would get sick of him if he didn't find a way to screw it up first. So he should be glad that he beat Harlan to the punch, but he's too busy trying to breathe around the tightness in his throat to worry about getting one up on Harlan. He shivers and pulls the towel a little tighter around his shoulders, taking a deep breath of cold air and opening his eyes wide against a sudden sting.

Because he's not going to cry. Not going to fucking _cry_ about it like some chick, not over Harlan or anybody else. Especially not over Harlan, because as far as he's concerned all they're doing is having a little fun. That's what he said, anyway, but that's not how it feels when they're alone together. Not how it feels when Harlan kisses him, and when Marcus finds himself lifting his fingers to his mouth he scowls and crosses his arms tight over his chest.

He's pretty much settled on walking back to campus when he hears footsteps rounding the corner, and he glances over before he can stop himself to find Harlan walking toward him. He's wearing a pair of sweatpants, chest still bare and when he reaches Marcus he holds out a pack of cigarettes and a lighter. "Kinda hard to smoke without these."

"I thought you wanted me to quit."

Harlan shrugs, settling against the brick next to him and pressing their shoulders together. "It's not a deal-breaker, Marcus."

He wants to ask what a deal-breaker for Harlan would be. Maybe murder, or maybe only if the murders in question happened to Harlan's best friends. Only he's already tried telling Harlan the truth once, and it didn't seem to matter then, so maybe even that's not enough to scare him off before he's ready.

"Thanks," Marcus says, finally reaching for the cigarettes and closing his hand hard around the pack, "but I quit."

"Since when?"

"No time like the present," he says, and when Harlan laughs the sound travels straight down his spine to warm him from the inside. He shivers against the sensation, and Harlan rolls his eyes and pushes himself off the wall.

"Come on, it's freezing out here," he says, nodding toward the house and smiling that almost-sweet smile Marcus doesn't get to see nearly often enough. "Go get changed and we'll watch a movie or something."

Just like that, like they didn't just have…well, something like a fight, anyway. Like Marcus wasn't two minutes from giving up and leaving without a backward glance, and maybe he was hoping Harlan would come after him, but he wasn't counting on it. He learned a long time ago not to count on anything, not when people have a bad habit of letting him down.

But Harlan's still casting sidelong glances at him when they reach the house, smiling that smile of his and shaking his head every time Marcus catches him looking. And he knows he's missing the joke, but for once Marcus doesn't really mind.


End file.
